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  I roar back and lift my forearms in front of me as shields. I’ll spin away in the last moment so that she runs into the refrigerated drinks section. And then maybe I can—

  But before she can get to me, another roar fills the store and a body leaps, lightning knife in his own hands.

  Ezo.

  He tackles her and slices in the same motion.

  Severing her head.

  It rolls across the floor, stopping right at the feet of the old man who runs the store. He’s backed himself up against the wall, near the back exit.

  Ding dong. The evil bitch is dead.

  “Ezo,” I cry, stumbling towards him with my arms out.

  He catches me and clutches me to him hard. “My Ana. Are you all right?” He pulls back from me, holding me by my shoulders. “And do not dare tell me fine.”

  I laugh, happy tears spilling down my face. “I have no idea, but I love you and I’m so sorry I left. I’m an idiot. I’m so sorr—”

  He clutches my face in his hands and kisses me furiously, cutting off my words.

  He’s right. There’s time for words later.

  I curl my arms around his neck and hold him close. Just like I’ll hold him close for the rest of my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ezo

  My cock is hard for my mate but my King will not stop talking, pacing back and forth with his new kit in his arms.

  “How dare they plot against me? Do they not see that I hold the future of our race in my arms? How did Siccua get to Earth? I thought you said all transports had been locked down under the strictest security.”

  His adviser, the elderly Reijash, bows low. His silver scales are burnished black by age but he is still strong and wise enough to be respected by almost all among the Draci.

  “I do not know, my King, but I will task my spies at once. We shall find the villain of this treachery.”

  “Wait, you don’t think this was just all Succotash, or whatever the hell her name was?” Ana asks.

  She is cradled in my arms, her back to my chest. I pulled her into the position as soon as we got into the King’s Palace and she has not squirmed away or asked me to let go, so I will not.

  Earlier, as soon as we dragged the traitor’s remains into the back of the vehicle Shak lent me, we began the long drive home. Why did she leave? Where was she going? How long had she known she was pregnant? Why hadn’t she mentioned it to the doctor earlier?

  I had so many questions. But almost as soon as we pulled back onto the long road that stretched home, she reached out and interlaced her fingers with mine, the blue scales of her forearm flashing in the sunlight.

  “I will never leave you again,” she whispered, squeezing my hand. “You’re stuck with me forever.”

  And then her eyes grew heavy and I could tell she needed rest. Shak told me that once the transformation begins, it is exhausting and later, painful for the female. I hate knowing that awaits my Ana and would take it on myself in an instant if I could.

  But I cannot, so the least I could do was let her sleep. I drove straight here and the King and his advisers have been up in arms ever since hearing about Siccua’s attack.

  “No,” Reijash answers. “Siccua could not have acted alone. She was imprisoned in the bowels of Draci III and there is no way she could have gotten free without aid. We suspect it may be a faction working with First. He has fled as well, also escaping his guards.”

  The King glowers at the name of his half-brother and his eyes burn bright gold.

  “If our holds cannot keep them, then we will no longer take prisoners,” the King states, standing tall and glaring down his every adviser, his son and future King sleeping peacefully in his arms. “If they come for my family, they will find I am happy to prove I am my father’s son. Let it be known.”

  King Thraxcruhxas was famously merciless to those who wronged or betrayed him. During the Exodus there were those who tried to take advantage of the chaos, with multiple assassination plots against the King, some barely thwarted in time. Heads rolled and then were displayed on spikes on the roads that lined the path to the Salvation Ships.

  “Yes, your Majesty. At once, your Majesty.” Reijash bows and strides from the room, the rest of the advisors following him.

  It is only after the double doors close behind them and we are alone with the King that his shoulders drop and I see just how weary he is.

  But then the baby in his arms stirs and Shak’s features immediately brighten. His awe is clear as he looks down at his son. The first Draci to be born in over two hundred years.

  “Can I hold him?” Ana asks, stepping forward out of my arms.

  The King nods, smiling down at his golden son before carefully passing him to my mate.

  Seeing Ana holding a child and knowing it will soon be our own kit in her arms in a little more than four turnings of the Earth’s moon…

  I swallow hard and then join them, getting my first close look at the tiny golden kit.

  Large, luminous golden eyes blink up at Ana and I. He lifts small fists to his face before wiggling his entire body.

  “He’s so beautiful,” Ana says, tears in her eyes as she smiles over at Shak. “How is Juliet?”

  “You can ask her yourself,” Giselle says, grinning as she steps into the room. “She’s awake and asking for her boys.”

  As if on cue, the kit screws up his little face and begins to wail.

  And in spite of all that happened today, I cannot help grinning as well, because it is the sound of my people’s future.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ezo

  I trace the outline of my mate’s bright blue wings. They broke through only a week ago but already Ana is becoming proficient at flying.

  It’s too dangerous to fly outside where satellite imagery could capture us, so Ana makes do with flying around the Great Room in the Royal Palace.

  We’ve decided to stay here for the duration of the pregnancy. It’s safer, there’s less exposure, and Ana likes to be around the Queen and her new kit anyway.

  Plus, the flying. Ana is very fond of the flying.

  After the Queen gave birth, Shak decided to clear out that room entirely so she and Ana and the new kit might use their wings to their hearts’ content. The kit cannot yet fly, but he has started to flap his wings mightily and just the other day got a few inches off of his sleeping cot.

  I do not miss the irony of the fact that I can go outside the gates among the Earthlings while my Ana must stay inside for her safety. We still do not know how great the faction that stands against the King is.

  I never leave without my scylathe concealed at my side now, but still. Someone must go for groceries and the basic necessities. My military training makes me the ideal candidate.

  I also accompany Shak when he returns to the ship. I have been elevated to his second in command.

  Life is… Well, I’m still not sure sometimes that I was not put in stasis after all and this is nothing more than my mind’s most elaborate yearnings.

  Because surely it cannot be my life: A beautiful, passionate mate. A station in life far beyond that of expendable drudge. A useful purpose. A kit on the way.

  “What are you thinking about?” Ana asks me. “You look so solemn.” Her thumb brushes my brow.

  “Nothing.” I take her hand in mine and kiss her fingers. “How are you feeling today?”

  “About as big as a house.” She puts a hand to her gently swollen stomach. “And it’s only the beginning!”

  I smile. “You look beautiful.”

  She rolls her eyes but then smiles, too. “Flattery will get you everywhere. How was the outside world?”

  I’ve just come back from a supply run.

  “It was interesting.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “Interesting?”

  “I walked downtown for a little while and went into some of the shops.”

  “I’m stuck back here in this compound and you decided to just go wandering
? For shits and giggles?”

  “No,” I say, confused. “There was no feces involved.”

  She waves a hand. “Just get on with it. See anything interesting while you were exploring?”

  I brighten. “I did. I brought back one thing in particular I hope you might like.”

  The attendants at the shop were very excited when I bought it and gave me strict instructions on how to present it.

  So I drop down to one knee.

  “Ezo, what—?”

  Then her breath catches and a hand flies to her chest as I open the small black box and expose the ring.

  It has a single, large sapphire. The color of the deepest blue in her wings.

  Her eyes fly from the ring to me down on my knee. “Ezo, does this mean—?”

  “Will you marry me?”

  Tears squeeze out of her eyes and run down her cheeks. She drops down and flings her arms around me. “Yes,” she cries, squeezing me tight. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

  She falls back only long enough to slip the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. Then she peels off the shirt she’s wearing, briefly getting it tangled in her wings. She’s still learning how to manage them. But she gets the shirt off and then she is gloriously topless, huge breasts swinging. And on her chest above them, bright blue scales shine in the morning sunlight.

  I yank off my shirt and pants, too, just in time because the next second my mate is dragging me onto the bed. She shoves me roughly down onto my back and climbs over top of me.

  I did not think it was possible, but since becoming pregnant she is even more insatiable. She desires me at all times of the day, morning and night.

  After a lifetime of celibacy, it’s a little overwhelming. Sometimes I think I have no more thoughts left in my head because my mate has sucked all the life inside me out through my two cocks.

  And I have never been happier.

  Like right now when she grabs my bottom erection and plunges it into her tight, wet heat. My top erection is stiff and hard and she grabs it, too, jerking it roughly up and down in the way I like best.

  Her thumb drags over the top ridge and collects my first cum. My balls tighten as her eyes lock with mine and she lifts her thumb to her mouth, sucking my essence off like it’s the tastiest sweet treat.

  My hips buck as I thrust my cock even deeper inside her.

  “Ezo,” she cries out, throwing her head back and arching her glorious teats out. Her legs wrap around mine. “Oh shit, Ezo. Hold onto me.”

  I sit up and grab onto her waist, then draw her plump, peaked nipple into my mouth.

  It sets her off. Her wings begin to flap uncontrollably and we lift up off the bed. She rides me more furiously than ever and I fuck her back.

  When I look up at her, she is a goddess, cerulean wings flapping uncontrollably with her pleasure, and I’m flying, we’re flying.

  She screams my name as she comes and I pump my life seed into her, clutching her more tightly than I’ve held anything in my whole life.

  I will hold tight to her forever.

  Epilogue

  GISELLE

  I’m happy for my best friends. I really am. I really, really am.

  But I miss them. Especially on days like today.

  “I told you Mrs. Hofstetter could not be seated by Mrs. Martinez under any circumstances,” Patricia hisses at me. “And look what you’ve done!”

  “They aren’t seated beside each other,” I defend myself as I look out on the elaborate banquet. They aren’t. I spent about three hours on the seating arrangements. But when there’s infighting and a million other little intrigues going on between all these society women, it’s like trying to plot a map around landmines.

  “But they are at the same table.” By Patricia’s tone, you’d think I’d murdered somebody. This is why I miss my friends. My real friends.

  “It’s an eight-foot table and they’re about as far from one another as you can get.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing. You can bet we’ll be getting complaint cards come Monday. And I’ll be sending all of them directly to you.”

  I toss my hands up in the air a little bit. “Okay. That’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” A common refrain around here.

  This is supposed to be about raising money for charity. So inner-city school kids can get scholarships for summer programs that have been shown to have a hugely positive impact on keeping them from getting involved in crime and gangs.

  But do any of these women care about that?

  All they can care about is whether or not Peggy wore the same dress as them and looked better in it. Or who’s having an affair with who.

  If it wasn’t for all the money I could squeeze out of them for good causes, I’d throw in the towel.

  Think of the kids, Giselle. Think of the kids.

  I smile. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Patricia?” You catch more bees with honey and all that…

  Patricia lifts her nose in the air and sniffs. “Not at the moment. Just make sure those lazy servers get the desserts out on time. At the breast-cancer benefit we had to wait almost twenty minutes for the last course. Twenty minutes!”

  “I’m on top of it.” I smile reassuringly.

  Patricia just glares at me. “You better be. You know there are plenty of people on the committee vying for your job.”

  What the hell?

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m usually so good at not engaging with BS like this but today I just can’t. Normally I can laugh witches like Patricia off because then I can go spend time with Ana and Juliet and feel sane again.

  But now they’re so busy with their own new lives and their babies and I’m still just…me. Stuck back here in the boring normal world with the Patricias and the Peggys. Because this is my life. And it always will be.

  “You think you’re so much better than us just because your father is a rich investment banker?”

  “Step-father,” I correct through gritted teeth but she ignores me.

  “Well my husband is a state senator. I deserve to be the head of this committee.”

  I can only stare at her, open-mouthed. “But you don’t give a shit about inner-city kids.”

  She gasps. “Language. The other women and I have been talking and we really don’t think you’re the best fit for this position anymore. Your behavior today only proves it.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re kicking me out?”

  She leans in, her little piggy eyes cruel. “And don’t go crying to daddy, either. If you try it, it will only make you more of a laughingstock. Try to have a little respect and bow out gracefully.”

  She’s only pulling this because she knows I’m not like her. I won’t make drama. But still, inside, I want to punch her. I want to punch her so badly.

  My hand fists and my muscles bunch with the desire.

  But I’m my mother’s daughter, so instead of giving into my desire, I turn on my heel and stalk from the room.

  I shove out the back door and don’t stop until I’m at the door of my car. I yank it open and sit inside, slamming the door shut behind me. Only there do I give into my anger, pounding my steering wheel with all my fury.

  “Stupid, ugly witch! You’re going to drive that charity into the ground and what will the kids do then?” I close my eyes and scream out all my frustration.

  And then my car door is pulled open from the outside.

  What the—?

  My eyes shoot open, expecting to see Patricia or one of the other society witches, but then I let out a surprised screech.

  Because it’s not Patricia.

  It’s an alien and it’s not one I know.

  He’s tall, a towering seven feet, and his skin— It’s a mottled combination of pale human skin with patches of dark burnished purple scales, like they attempted the transformation on him but it didn’t take. And I mean it really, really didn’t take.

  His face is like a phantom of the opera mask, ha
lf human, half alien, with a nose that couldn’t decide and is halfway between ours and theirs.

  “Who are you?” I whisper. “Did Shak send you?”

  He sneers. “No, my bastard half-brother didn’t send me. I am First and you are coming with me. I will mate you, produce offspring, and retake my place as King.”

  Oh sh—

  But before I can make a run for it, First snatches me up around the waist, extends huge purple wings, and leaps into the air with me.

  Thank you for reading My Alien’s Baby! My Alien Beast will be Giselle and First’s story, coming out later this Fall!

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  About Stasia Black

  STASIA BLACK grew up in Texas, recently spent a freezing five-year stint in Minnesota, and now is happily planted in sunny California, which she will never, ever leave.

  She loves writing, reading, listening to podcasts, and has recently taken up biking after a twenty-year sabbatical (and has the bumps and bruises to prove it). She lives with her own personal cheerleader, aka, her handsome husband, and their teenage son. Wow. Typing that makes her feel old. And writing about herself in the third person makes her feel a little like a nutjob, but ahem! Where were we?

  Stasia’s drawn to romantic stories that don’t take the easy way out. She wants to see beneath people’s veneer and poke into their dark places, their twisted motives, and their deepest desires. Basically, she wants to create characters that make readers alternately laugh, cry ugly tears, want to toss their kindles across the room, and then declare they have a new FBB (forever book boyfriend).